


Passionate Kisses/Shouldn't I Have This?

by Thalia Z (JesBelle)



Series: The Collected Works of Thalia Z. [5]
Category: Galaxy Quest (TV)
Genre: Actually Talking Like Adults, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of genocide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Survivor Guilt, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, This Is The One With The Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18422049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesBelle/pseuds/Thalia%20Z
Summary: The Mak'Tar are a dignified and ceremonious race with a ritual for everything -- including dating -- but Humans have a way of getting even the most decorous of rituals a little messy.





	Passionate Kisses/Shouldn't I Have This?

**Author's Note:**

> A two-parter -- "Passionate Kisses" was published in _The Myths of Delos_ in 1997, but "Shouldn't I Have This?" was only available on my old GeoCities page until now.

**Passionate Kisses**

 

 

_Step 1 — Declare your intent and petition for acceptance._

Shockingly, Vincent had done this. Lazarus was still trying to comprehend the reality of that action.

_Step 2 — Accept or decline the petition._

Lazarus had accepted — publicly.

_Step 3 — The participants should kiss to signify their willingness to engage in this ritual._

Also completed — also publicly — and much to Lazarus’s further surprise, it had been pleasurable.

_Step 4 — Speak your reasons for engaging in this ritual._

“You do realize that this ritual is meant to lead to marriage?” said Lazarus.

“Yeah,” said Vincent. “Then again, it might not. It’s sort of a test too, right?”

“It is a gauntlet designed to prevent hasty decisions.”

Their shifts were over and they were sitting on the bed in Lazarus’s quarters. It was the only piece of furniture there.

“Yeah, after only five years of working together, I’d hate to do anything hasty,” said Vincent.

“Why did you initiate a Mak’Tar ritual rather than a Human one?” asked Lazarus.

“Step 4? I thought you didn’t remember how this ritual goes.”

“Sha’ree didn’t put a passcode on the data crystal. I looked it up.”

“Honestly,” said Vincent, “I don’t know if I can tell you every reason. I wanted to get your attention, show you that I’m serious. I’m not used to feeling so… _much_ for someone. And I want this to work. I want us to work. A lot of this ritual seems designed to make two people closer, and we suck at that stuff, Lazarus. We’re just really bad. I don’t push, and you don’t pull. So this seemed like a good idea.”

Lazarus had expected something more formal, more formulaic. This halting confession was something only a Human would think was appropriate. And it touched him.

“It was cowardice that kept me from speaking earlier,” said Lazarus, opting also for a simple truth, “and it pierced me to see you hurt when I didn’t answer. If I had doubted the depth of my feeling for you, I could not help but acknowledge it then. If this is truly how you wish to proceed, then I can’t argue with your reasoning, but I think we should incorporate some Human customs as well.”

“I see,” said Vincent, smiling. “Well, if you don’t have anything better to do, I can show you the Human custom of making out.”

Making out apparently involved kissing with methods and in quantities that most Mak’Tar would find unsettlingly excessive.

Lazarus, to his surprise, found it utterly delightful.

 

_Step 5 — Take a meal together._

“We eat together all the time,” Vincent pointed out.

“I think it’s more in keeping with the spirit of the ritual that we dine in more private surroundings than the mess hall,” said Lazarus.

“This thing is sending us on a dinner date?”

“It would appear so.”

They ended up going to a restaurant on Epsilon Station when the _Protector_ docked there later that week. Tawny had recommended it — “It’s a little touristy, but the food is great.”

They even dressed up. Vincent wore grey — dark grey suit, charcoal zippered vest, light grey shirt. He’d gotten the outfit a few years ago. He briefly wondered as he was dressing if the whole monochromatic thing was still in style.

Lazarus wore his dress uniform.

“I should have opted for civilian clothing,” said Lazarus when he saw Vincent.

“You look fine,” said Vincent. “Purple suits you.”

It turned out that the food _was_ great. Vincent had the Chicken Tagine and Lazarus had Something That Thankfully Didn’t Move.

_Step 6 — Relate your history._

They decided to do step 6 at the same time. It seemed to be an easy one. They already knew each others’ life stories, mostly.

“So, just tell me something I don’t know yet,” said Vincent.

Lazarus took a drink of his water.

“I haven’t many memories of… my early childhood. However, I do recall my grandparents — my mother’s father and mother — taking me to the seaside once. We traveled by train, and the morning was terrible – cold and raining. I thought the outing would be miserable, but my grandmother said that the rain would wash the world clean and the seaside would be warm and sunny when we arrived. She was correct, or at least, the meteorological report that morning was accurate.

“It was bright and there were a hundred other children there. We all stripped off our clothes and ran through the surf, chasing each other. We searched for treasures. We sculpted shapes in the sand. The adults sat on blankets, watching our antics, scooping us up if we got hurt. There was a vendor with ice cream.

“For months, I tried to place the scent that had led me to nest in your quarters. I believe that it was that day — the sea and rain, the sun-warm sand, the cold sweets.”

“You smelled all that in my quarters?” asked Vincent.

Lazarus smiled. “It was a trick of my mind, of course. My subconscious was simply informing me that I’d found a suitable situation by dredging up that scent memory.”

“So it doesn’t smell like that anymore?” He felt a little disappointed that his quarters had somehow lost their magic.

“No. There’s still a scent, but it has shifted. It remains decidedly pleasing, however.” He picked up his glass and took another swallow.

“My grandpa used to take me to the beach sometimes,” said Vincent.

“You’ve never mentioned your grandparents,” Lazarus prompted.

“Most of them died before I was born. I was kind of a late surprise. All of my sisters but one had already left home.

“Anyway, Grandpa would take me to a lot of places — the beach, the park, the library. I think he wanted to make sure I was getting out, not just sitting around the house building little contraptions and messing around on my computer. My parents had gone back to work full-time so he would come over in the afternoon a few days a week to watch me.

“He always expected a report on what I’d been up to. I’d save up stories for him. I don’t think I ever shut up when he was around.”

Vincent shook his head, thinking how weird it was that he had gone from being that talkative little kid to someone who most people described as a “good listener.”

“You were fond of him,” said Lazarus.

“Yeah, of course. He was my grandpa. It was a shock to me when he was just suddenly gone. I was nine. I’d never known someone who’d died.”

Good one, thought Vincent. Bring up dead relatives to the guy who lost his entire world at the age of five. You’re an excellent date.

Vincent cleared his throat. “Did I ever tell you that I was an artists’ model in college?”

“What’s an artists’ model?” asked Lazarus, thankfully allowing the change of subject.

“You don’t know? You went to college on Earth.”

“I wasn’t a Humanities student.”

“Yeah, neither was I,” said Vincent. “Artists’ models pose nude for the students so that they can learn to draw the structures of the body.”

“And you did this? Posed nude for a classroom of art students?” asked Lazarus.

“Yeah,” said Vincent. “Why the surprise?”

“You were quite modest when we cohabited.”

“You weren’t learning to draw the human body. Actually, nudity doesn’t bother me. I was mostly covering up for your sake.”

“Did you tell me this story so that I would imagine you naked?” asked Lazarus.

“Is it working?”

 

_Step 7 — Make something together._

“Well,” said Vincent, “we made that Time-Extractor Pod together, and there was the Interface Module for the Gdonkian bio-computer, and the serum that we created to battle the Phyllactan Micro-bot infection…”

“Right,” said Lazarus. “We can mark that one ‘complete.’”

 

_Step 8 — Sleep together._

“Is that a euphemistic ‘sleep together’ or a literal ‘sleep together?’” asked Vincent. They were in Vincent’s quarters. Lazarus was there to ask Vincent if he’d like to fulfill the next step of the ritual tonight.

“Why in Grabthar’s name would ‘sleep together’ be a euphemism?” asked Lazarus. “For what?”

“Sex.”

“Wait. When Humans say ‘sleep together,’ they mean ‘engage in sexual congress?’”

“Usually,” said Vincent.

“Well, that certainly explains quite a few things.”

“So this is a bed-sharing situation,” said Vincent.

“You sound disappointed. Do you prefer to sleep alone?” Lazarus sincerely hoped that Vincent didn’t prefer that. He wanted to share a bed with him. He spent his nights holding Vincent’s old body pillow and trying to remember the now-faded scent of it.

“No, it’s not that. Sleeping with you sounds wonderful, as a matter of fact. I’d just like to… have sex with you too”

“I should hope you do.” Lazarus was, in fact, elated. Sex was something that he had forgone with no regret when he had chosen the life of an ascetic. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel attraction or desire. It was just that the act itself had proven to be… unfulfilling, actually.

But he doubted that it would be unfulfilling with Vincent, if their amorous activities up until now were any indication. For the first time that he could remember, he found himself yearning for more.

“When does that happen?” asked Vincent.

“When we choose for it to happen,” said Lazarus. “Were you expecting that the ritual would prescribe it?”

“Basically. But you’re saying we could be fooling around at any time?”

“My apologies. I thought that you were aware of this. Humans have a wide range of when they consider such activity acceptable. It was my understanding that they often wish to defer sex when they are in a more emotionally engaged relationship.”

“You thought I wanted to take it slow because I… care for you.”

“Yes.” He kissed Vincent lightly, gently, and (he hoped) reassuringly. “I’ve been refraining from initiating greater physical intimacy as well, expecting that you would take the lead as you’re more experienced in these matters than I.”

“When you didn’t seem interested in moving beyond kissing… I guess I figured we had to wait until this step of the ritual.”

“I seemed uninterested?” Lazarus closed his eyes, and rubbed the spot on his forehead between them. “Yes, of course I did.” He sighed. “Vincent, I’ve been an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry about what?” asked Vincent.

“It didn’t occur to me that you were finding my signals opaque, even though I find Human sexual signals to be confusing, at best. Ironically enough, when I thought that I stood no chance of ever securing your affection, I was worried that Sha’ree’s cursed data crystal might include some scholarly article on the mechanics of Mak’Tar arousal. I feared what would happen if you ever learned how to see the effect you have on me, and now that I wish to communicate my desires, I’ve neglected to show you.”

“Okay, so... show me now.”

Lazarus sat on the edge of the little table, turned his head, and pointed to the series of fluted ridges above his ear. “These are vestigial gills, leftovers from an aquatic ancestor.” He turned back to Vincent. “Now, kiss me.”

Vincent stood between Lazarus’s knees and pressed his lips to Lazarus’s. Lazarus let the kiss turn passionate in what he thought of now as the “Human style” — all slick tongues and teeth biting lips and suction. (If Mak’Tar ever kissed like this, Lazarus was unaware of it.) Lazarus buried his fingers in Vincent’s hair for good measure, knowing that the softness and scent and novelty of the sensation would arouse him even further. When the need for air finally drove him to break the kiss, he leaned his forehead against Vincent’s.

“Like you,” he said, still breathing heavily, “Mak’Tar need more oxygen when we’re aroused.” He pointed to his gill ridges. “And these silly things think they can still provide that.” He turned his head and let Vincent see how they had darkened from a faint periwinkle to lavender, and how they were fluttering. “Granted, other stimuli will cause a similar reaction, but I think you can assess the context on your own.”

Vincent raised his hand and touched the area. “They’re warm.”

“Yes, that’s the other thing. Humans can’t see it because it’s too far into the infra-red part of the spectrum, but it’s glowing.”

“You literally glow when you’re turned on?” Vincent appeared to be vastly amused at this.

“Yes. You can see why I find such signifiers as dilated pupils or a slight flaring of the nostrils to be a bit subtle.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Anything else?” asked Vincent.

“There are other areas that glow as well,” said Lazarus. It was oddly arousing to be speaking of such matters. Mak’Tar usually talked about sex very infrequently and only in the driest of terms. This was a lesson for prepubescent children, not something one discussed with one’s breathlessly curious adult… suitor.

“What else then?”

Lazarus swallowed. “The spinal ridge.”

“Ah,” said Vincent. He reached out and unzipped Lazarus’s jacket — unhurriedly, deliberately, allowing Lazarus time to stop him if he wanted. Lazarus felt Vincent’s hands slide along his ribs until they met in the back over his sensitive ridge. Vincent stroked down, slow and firm, until he reached the top of Lazarus’s pants, then back up. “It’s also very warm.”

“Mm-hm,” was all Lazarus could manage.

“Anything else?” Vincent’s voice was soft and low, his mouth just a few centimeters from Lazarus’s ear.

“Well,” said Lazarus, placing his hands on Vincent’s hips and letting them slip back until he was grasping Vincent’s behind. He moved slowly, also giving Vincent the opportunity to halt the proceedings. He pulled Vincent’s hips closer until their groins were firmly pressed together. “This too.”

“They glow?”

“Just the tips,” said Lazarus, kissing Vincent again. This was luxury and gratification of the highest order, Lazarus decided. To have his tongue in Vincent’s mouth and his hands on Vincent’s backside, to be pressed up against all this warm living flesh — it was unbelievably good and right and lovely.

“I didn’t expect it to be this big,” said Lazarus, rolling his hips a little so that Vincent couldn’t make a mistake as to what he was referring. “Or firm.”

Vincent’s head fell forward onto Lazarus’s shoulder. “Lazarus, you’re going to kill me.”

“Our watch begins in twenty minutes,” Lazarus reminded him.

“It won’t take twenty minutes to kill me,” said Vincent.

Lazarus chuckled. “Call me sentimental — I’d like to take my time with this.”

Vincent, his head still on Lazarus’s shoulder, nodded and groaned a little. He looked up. “You’re sentimental, but also right.”

Lazarus stroked Vincent’s cheek. “You’ll sleep with me tonight?”

Vincent smiled. “I’d love to.”

“My quarters? After dinner? 1900?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

By 1900, they had given up on the Surface Pod. The engine was beyond repair and the wind was picking up. Sensors indicated that the dust storm could produce winds of up to 115 km/hour. With the gravity stabilizers offline in the tiny craft, Taggart decided the team would be better off in a nearby cave. They grabbed the emergency kits and headed for the shelter.

Once out of the wind, the security team heated a couple of rocks with their ion nebulizers. Taggart dug out some emergency rations, and they set up camp. Lazarus silently zipped his and Vincent’s sleeping bags together. Dinner was something purporting to be lasagna, washed down with stale water. With nothing else to do, everyone turned in early.

Vincent was the last one to lie down. He crawled in next to Lazarus and stuffed his rolled-up jacket under his head for a pillow. He snuggled back into Lazarus’s warm body.

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” he whispered.

“Nor I,” whispered Lazarus, putting an arm around Vincent and holding him tight. “But you’re in my arms, and that’s far more than I had last night.”

 

_Step 9 — Prepare a meal together._

On the third day of The Storm That Apparently Never Ends, one of the security detail managed to kill a couple of small, nutritionally valuable animals that made their home in the cave system. Lazarus, as the person with the most experience at dissection, had cut them into chunks, and Vincent was threading those chunks onto a makeshift skewer.

“This is not what I had in mind,” said Vincent.

 

_Step 10 — Solve a problem together._

“This is not exactly what I had in mind,” said Lazarus, “but I suppose it meets the criteria.”

“Hand me the sonic socket wrench, will you?” Vincent glanced at Lazarus. “It’s the third from the right.”

Vincent was lying on his side under the main navigation console of the Surface Pod. His hair was greasy from being unwashed for five days, and he was pretty sure that every square centimeter of his skin was covered in grit kicked up from the storm.

“Thanks,” he said as he took the tool. “You were hoping for something more glamorous?”

“I was certainly envisioning something in which I took a more active role,” said Lazarus.

By day four, Vincent had managed to rig the gravity stabilizers to use an ion nebulizer as an energy source. He then reversed the polarity on them so that the entire craft could be lifted and moved into one of the larger caves. Once out of the storm, he had begun work on the engine. Nothing was ever beyond repair in Vincent’s book.

“If we can get this thing running,” he told Taggart and Lazarus, “we can leave during a lull. They’re too unpredictable and don’t last long enough for the ship to send another Pod down to get us, but it would only take a few seconds for us to get above the storm.”

He and Lazarus had been working on the Pod for 26 hours now, with short breaks to nap.

“Well, this isn’t the first time we’ve done something like this,” said Vincent. “And it won’t be the last. Next time I’ll hand you tools — eyedroppers and petri dishes or something.” He wriggled out from under the console. “I think we already knew that we work well together.”

He reached a hand up to the console and flipped a switch. The engine hummed smoothly to life.

 

_Step 11 — Name something that frustrates you._

Once they were back aboard the _Protector_ , Vincent took his bone-weary and filthy self directly to his shower. He ran the longest cycle twice even though the computer complained at length about his wastefulness. He’d missed six showers and was in no mood for a guilt trip from a machine. He was just spreading his blanket over the couch when the door chimed.

“Enter,” said Vincent.

It was Lazarus, also divested of two kilos’ worth of Planet Hell-Storm.

“May I sleep here?” he asked.

“Of course.” Vincent smiled and picked up the blanket.

“You were intending to sleep on the couch?”

“I uhm… haven’t slept in the bed,” said Vincent. “It feels too big.”

“I’ve become quite adept at sprawling, if you require minimal space in order to feel cozy.”

“You’ve been making me plenty cozy for almost a week now,” said Vincent, spreading the blanket over the bed.

He climbed in and curled himself around his body pillow. Lazarus climbed in and curled himself around Vincent. Vincent touched the lamp off, and they both fell immediately asleep.

When Vincent awoke, he was facing Lazarus. Their legs were tangled together, Vincent’s arm was thrown over Lazarus’s waist, his hand resting against the warm ridge of his spine, and Lazarus was holding him. They were pressed too tightly together for Vincent’s arousal to be anything but immediately apparent.

“You’ve no idea what it is costing me not to move,” said Lazarus, early-morning rustiness rendering his voice even deeper and slower than usual.

The sound shot down Vincent’s spine, causing his cock to jerk helplessly.

“Sweet Ipthar,” Lazarus whispered

Vincent felt the heat radiating from Lazarus’s ridge.

“Tell me you don’t have a shift today,” said Vincent as he gathered up the soft fabric of Lazarus’s undershirt until he reached warm, bare skin.

“I don’t have a… hnnn…” Vincent had worked his fingers into Lazarus’s pajama pants and was stroking circles into the widest part of his ridge.

Lazarus pushed Vincent back into the bed, kissing his mouth, his jaw, his neck — biting and sucking at the muscle between his neck and shoulder. Vincent could feel rhythmic, deliberate movement against his cock. He pulled Lazarus tighter against himself.

Out by the sofa, his vox chimed.

Three quick tones.

The commander.

“Fuck,” said Vincent. His vox chimed again, and Lazarus rolled off him with a groan of such pure frustration that Vincent was sure rocks would weep in commiseration. He got up and answered it.

“Chen here.”

“Chen. God, I’m sorry about this,” said Taggart.

That makes three of us, thought Vincent, glancing over his shoulder at Lazarus.

“Listen, I know you guys are… I mean it’s been a long week, right? Well anyway, I hate to interrupt you, but Admiral Singh wants to debrief you personally about the last mission, like right now.”

“Just me, or Dr. Lazarus too?”

“Just you. He’s very impressed with the report I sent him. Wants to hear from you about how you came up with that trick with the gravity stabilizers. Won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. I told him you were up for nearly 30 hours straight, and you were probably still asleep, but he really wants to talk to you before he has some meeting this morning.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Vincent.

“Ten minutes?”

“Fifteen.” He needed a cold shower.

“Okay,” said Taggart. “See you then. Taggart out.”

 

_Step 12 — Plan a gift._

Lazarus found Vincent directing the controlled chaos in the engine room.

“Sorry, Lazarus. Somehow, with everything else going on, it slipped my mind that we’re scheduled to dock at Gamma Station today for upgrades. The commander doesn’t want to miss our berth, and I don’t blame him. We’ll be waiting over a month for another one.”

“Yes,” said Lazarus. “I was also momentarily unaware of today’s schedule.” He paused, as the reason for his distraction attempted to suppress a grin. “I met with Peter a moment ago. I recommended that anyone involved in the recent mission be granted three days shore leave while the _Protector_ is in dock.”

“I’d love that, but the upgrades…” said Vincent.

“Are mostly to the main barracks and the mess hall,” said Lazarus. “The steward and the mess sergeant are perfectly capable of handling it. You can take care of the few items under your purview after you’ve had some R&R.”

“They’re installing a new ion flow regulator in the beryllium sphere chamber.”

“I had Lt. Madison contact the dockmaster. She said they’ve installed hundreds of them now and it requires but an hour to accomplish. She had no problem scheduling it for the end of our stay.”

Lazarus lowered his voice.

“Lt. Madison was also kind enough to secure us a room in a hotel on Gamma Station,” he said. “They have suites in one of the smaller observation domes. She knows the owner.”

Vincent hesitated for a moment longer, then said, “It sounds wonderful, Lazarus. Thank you.”

Lazarus gave Vincent one of his small, crooked smiles, then started toward the corridor. Over his shoulder he said, “1500. Shuttleport B, Sergeant.”

“I’ll be there, Doctor.”

The room was as spectacular as Tawny had said it would be. It was located high in the dome and near the edge so that the transparent ceiling curved down and transitioned into the widest wall in the wedge-shaped room. It was decorated simply in black and cool neutral colors to complement rather than compete with the view.

The sea-blue disk of Colter IV currently filled half of that view. Two of its moons were also visible — tiny red Ethos was floating a few degrees north of the equator, while the grey pitted surface of Praxis was just disappearing beyond the edge of the dome.

Lazarus dropped their bags on the luggage rack near the entrance and pulled Vincent into an embrace before the room’s computer could even finish its welcome spiel.

The view would still be there later.

“You look good in civilian clothes,” said Vincent between kisses. Lazarus was wearing a dark brown Mak’Tar _sennes_ along with the wide-legged pants of a warrior.

“Your approval is gratifying,” said Lazarus. “Now help me out of them before I utterly lose my nerve.”

“Anxious?”

“In every sense of the word.” Lazarus took Vincent’s face in his hands, and kissed him again. “I want you.” Another kiss. “I’ve wanted you for weeks,” kiss, “months, really. I want your scent on my skin.” Kiss. “I want to touch and kiss you.” Kiss. “I want to hear those soft cries you make when you’re aroused.” More kisses. “I want to know what sounds you make as you come to crisis. And I have only the vaguest notions of how we’re to accomplish that.”

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment. “Well, when you put it that way…” He twisted his hand in the trailing end of the flat tie on Lazarus’s right shoulder and pulled, watching the single-loop bow disappear. He folded the front of the jacket back and tugged the smaller inner tie loose as well. He set his mouth to Lazarus’s collar bone and briefly tasted the skin there. “This can’t be nearly as complicated as the Phyllacton micro-bots, right?”

“Right.” Lazarus relaxed a little. He wasn’t alone in this, after all. They had managed to combine their disparate skill sets successfully in the past. They could do so again now.

Vincent, as a matter of fact, seemed to already be making progress.

“You don’t wear anything under this?” Vincent’s hands stroked down Lazarus’s chest to his stomach.

“Mmm. It’s not strictly necessary, and I was dressing quickly.”

“Did you leave anything else off?” asked Vincent, stepping behind Lazarus and pulling the coat from his shoulders. He planted a quick kiss on Lazarus’s spinal ridge before laying the jacket across a nearby chair.

“Yes,” said Lazarus, his breath catching slightly.

“I see.” Vincent came back and stood behind Lazarus. He placed his hands on the thick ties at Lazarus’s hips. “Are you planning on keeping your shoes on?”

Lazarus kicked off the soft indoor boots he was wearing.

Vincent made no move to untie Lazarus’s pants. He merely let his hands rest on the knots while he continued placing cool, wet kisses down Lazarus’s heated spine. His thumbs stroked the edge of the ridge where it widened at the small of Lazarus’s back, sending pleasure vibrating up his spine. Vincent knelt and brushed his lips over the center of that spot. “So warm,” he said, and his breath ghosted cool against Lazarus’s sensitive skin.

Lazarus made some low, inarticulate sound.

Vincent licked the spot and then blew air over it.

Lazarus made the same noise, a little louder this time. He could feel Vincent tugging on the ties at his hips, loosening them.

“How do you keep this stuff on in a fight?” asked Vincent.

“Obviously I don’t tie them in a mooring hitch when going into battle,” said Lazarus.

He expected Vincent to let the pants fall to the floor, but instead he continued to hold the ties, lowering the garment just far enough to reveal where Lazarus’s spinal ridge tapered into the cleft of Lazarus’s buttocks. Vincent gave the tip one last open-mouthed kiss before standing up.

Then he let go of the ties, allowing the pants to pool on the floor before he came back around to Lazarus’s front and kissed him on the mouth.

Lazarus felt the wool of Vincent’s suit and the soft cotton of his shirt against his skin. It was novel, this sensation of someone else’s clothes pressed against his bare flesh.

“I have only second-hand knowledge of your species’ sexual habits, but I believe nudity for all participants is customary,” said Lazarus.

“We can save the fancy stuff for later?” Vincent smiled, and, skimming his hands down Lazarus’s back, he kissed him one more time before stepping back and toeing off his own shoes. He removed his midnight blue jacket and tossed it over the chair, covering Lazarus’s. Lazarus bent and retrieved his pants from the floor. He added them to the pile a moment before Vincent’s shirt landed there. Vincent was busy with his belt and the button on his pants when Lazarus’s gaze returned to him.

It seemed significant to Lazarus — this moment before Vincent removed the remainder of his clothing. He wondered if there would be a time when it seemed mundane to watch Vincent remove his pants. He hoped so, and, by the same token, he hoped not.

Vincent laid his pants and underwear on top of the other clothing, and turning, caught Lazarus’s gaze. They stood there, a couple meters apart, just looking. Just noting the differences, thought Lazarus. Vincent’s skin was slightly darker than his own and warmer in tone. Black hair formed patterns on that skin — across his chest, on his forearms and legs, at his armpits and groin. Of course, Vincent didn’t have a pouch, of course, nor any of the body parts that, on a Mak’Tar, would now be glowing with arousal.

But he did have a penis.

And that was _clearly_ indicating arousal. There was no way that Vincent could have hidden that much genitalia beneath an NSEA uniform. However, from the fact that it still hung over the sac containing his testicles, Lazarus surmised that it could become larger and harder still. The thought made him swallow.

“Not too alien, I hope,” said Vincent.

Lazarus shook his head slowly. “I think, whatever the differences in our two species, it’s clear that our bodies are responding to each other quite favorably,” he said.

Vincent moved closer to Lazarus. “You know, I’d tell you that you need to work on your bedroom talk, but with your voice, you could recite the ship’s Crew Directory and it would still be sexy as hell.”

Vincent took Lazarus’s hands in his own, interlocking their fingers. There was only the barest sliver of air between their bodies now. Lazarus looked down.

“May I…” he licked his lips. “May I touch your penis?”

Vincent made a sort of gasping/snorting noise. “You may, if you promise to call it a cock.”

“Cock?”

“It’s um… more inspiring.” Vincent was definitely breaking into laughter now.

Lazarus unspiraled his upper left ancillary tentacle from his genital bundle and wound it around Vincent’s… cock.

It lay warm and heavy against the shaft of his tentacle, cooler against the glowing tip. He could feel the steady beat of Vincent’s heart pushing more blood into it, pressing it into his grasp. Experimentally, he stroked the soft skin of it.

“Oh!” Vincent drew a sharp breath. “Oh, that’s… I didn’t realize you’d be so nimble with them. Or um… strong.”

“I do train them,” said Lazarus, unwinding the upper right tentacle and wrapping it around the base of Vincent’s cock under his testicles.

“Yeah, you mentioned that once.” Vincent leaned his head into Lazarus’s shoulder and looked down between their bodies at what he was doing.

Lazarus ran the tip of his lower left tentacle along the underside of Vincent’s cock, pausing to explore the little vee partially bisecting the head.

“Mmf,” said Vincent, putting a hand on Lazarus’s shoulder.

This was all very different from what Lazarus was used to, if one could call oneself acclimated to an activity one had only experienced a handful of times. Vincent’s penis didn’t grasp or stroke back, though it could hardly be considered inert.

Lazarus used the lower left tentacle to caress Vincent’s testicles. “Do you have a preferred designation for these?” he asked.

Vincent swayed slightly and clutched Lazarus’s shoulder. “They’re um… usually called ‘balls’ when you’re being informal. If you promise to keep that up, though, I’ll let you call them Statler and Waldorf if it makes you happy.”

“Your rather gratifying responsiveness makes me happy.”

“Lazarus?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we do this on the bed? I can be even more responsive when I’m not concentrating on staying upright.”

Lazarus tilted Vincent’s chin up and kissed him as he let go of his cock.

Vincent went to the bed and yanked back the covers.

Lazarus noted that Vincent’s cock was now standing out from his body and… bobbing a bit. It was a curiously attractive organ despite having only one trick. It certainly wasn’t subtle or demure, but he liked how enthusiastic it seemed.

Sweet Ipthar. He was becoming attached to the thing, like it was a pet he was considering adopting.

He knelt next to Vincent on the bed. Vincent, rather than kneel near Lazarus, lay down on his side and curved his body around Lazarus so that his upper torso was close to Lazarus’s lap. He propped his head on his hand. Lazarus wondered how he was supposed to reach Vincent’s cock with a tentacle that was only 25 centimeters long, but apparently Vincent was more interested in familiarizing himself with them at the moment.

“They look like a seashell when they’re all wound together and curled up like that,” said Vincent.

Lazarus regarded his tentacles in their bundle. “They do rather resemble a nautilid.” He straightened the bundle, then unwound the four ancillary tentacles from around the larger main tentacle. “The bundle keeps them tidy and protects the more sensitive main tentacle. Keeping them curled under also protects my testes which are located along the underside of the two lower tentacles. And are you even listening?”

“Oh, I’m definitely listening,” said Vincent. He skimmed his hand over Lazarus’s flank and let it hover above the main tentacle. “May I?”

“Of course you may,” said Lazarus feeling as if every scrap of his consciousness was focused on that hand as Vincent wrapped it around his tentacle and stroked.

Vincent careful at first, touching it as he did any unfamiliar and possibly delicate mechanism, but gradually hebecame more adventurous as he gained confidence. It was another novel sensation. Lazarus had never felt hands other than his own on his tentacles. Mak’Tar stimulated each other’s tentacles with their own tentacles. Vincent’s fingers were about the same thickness as an ancillary tentacle, but the similarities ended there. Fingers were shorter and not as flexible. Still, it was very pleasant.

Exceedingly pleasant.

“Do you have a preferred designation for this?” Vincent asked.

“Tentacle.”

“That’s… very appropriate.” He laid his head in Lazarus’s lap, and Lazarus couldn’t resist touching his hair with the two closest tentacles.

“May I use my mouth?” asked Vincent.

Mouth? Humans did that. Of course they did. Lazarus had read about it. That could be… interesting, if a bit inelegant.

Lazarus nodded.

Vincent licked a long stripe up the underside of the lower left tentacle, right over the slight swelling of Lazarus’s gonad.

That was _not_ what Lazarus had expected.

Not that he’d really known what to expect — his knowledge of such activities being strictly theoretical.

But Vincent seemed to like getting his mouth on Lazarus, and Lazarus had to admit that he found the sensation of saliva cooling his skin to be far more delightful than he’d have predicted.

Vincent took the tip into his mouth. He caressed it with his tongue just as he caressed Lazarus’s tongue when they kissed.

It felt almost the same as touching the tentacle of another Mak’Tar — understandably since they were composed of similar muscle tissues. This was much wetter, of course, and cooler because of the difference in their body temperatures. And Lazarus was beginning to lose his train of thought. Amid all of the sensations that he could enumerate and explain were others that had no explanation — they just _were_. This felt intimate. It felt like trust and affection. Lazarus felt simultaneously vulnerable and safe. He felt wanted. Cared for.

Vincent released the ancillary tentacle to nuzzle the main one. “Good?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Lazarus, stroking Vincent’s hair.

“And this?” asked Vincent, licking the main tentacle as well.

“Yes.”

“How about this?” Vincent held the tentacle around its base, then took as much of the rest of it into his mouth as he could. Because this tentacle didn’t emit infra-red light like the others, Vincent’s mouth felt comparatively warm around it.

And that warm mouth was engulfing him. Taking him _in_.

Vincent applied suction as he drew his mouth slowly and smoothly back up the shaft until only the tip lay against his tongue. He licked and fondled it for a few moments before moving down again and surrounding nearly the entire tentacle.

Lazarus tried to answer the question — some part of his brain was aware that Vincent enjoyed hearing him talk and that hearing him talk about this would be particularly pleasurable.

But he was _in_ and snug and _wet_ for Grabthar’s sake. According to the educational materials he’d been given as a child and from his own limited experience, Mak’Tar twined, they touched and stroked, but anything wet and _engulfing_ was strictly part of procreative sex and this was not that. Procreative sex was something Lazarus expected to engage in only once in his lifetime, if that. He dreaded the very idea, and he knew that his antipathy was not uncommon.

But this… this was… this was… Well, it was incredibly _good_ was what it was. It should have been revolting. Vincent’s saliva had worked its way under his fist, and from the way he was smearing it around the base of Lazarus’s tentacle, he was pretty sure that was intentional.

This was undignified and sloppy and _glorious_.

“It’s wet,” was all Lazarus could manage to say.

Vincent snorted around his mouthful of tentacle. He pulled his off it.

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I am aware of how Humans engage in sex,” said Lazarus just a little testily, “and that a certain amount of liquid is considered desirable. I wasn’t quite prepared for the quantities involved, though.”

“But you like it,” said Vincent, still lazily stroking Lazarus’s slippery main tentacle.

“Yes, I like it.”

Vincent sat up and kissed him. “Wait right here.” He went over to his bag and retrieved a small black tube. Then he went into the bathroom and came back with a hand towel. He tossed the towel on the bed and sat down beside Lazarus.

“A lubricant,” he said. “I brought it along in case we wanted to… use it.”

“You’re admirably prepared,” said Lazarus.

“You don’t know the half of it,” said Vincent. “Anyway, you want to try?” He held up the tube.

“Yes.”

Vincent grinned. He snapped open the lid and squeezed a generous quantity onto his palm.

“Ready?” he asked, closing the bottle and tossing it aside.

Lazarus reclined on the bed, leaning back on his elbows.

“Ready.”

“Sorry if it’s cold,” said Vincent.

It was a bit cold.

It was also slippery and messy and it felt outstanding.

Vincent’s hands grasped and squeezed and slicked and stroked. And Lazarus sought those hands with his tentacles, winding them around Vincent’s wrists, stroking his palms and fingers.

In an instant, he felt as though he were unraveling, coming apart. He could hear his own rough breath, heard himself whispering “yes” and “please.”

He was close.

He didn’t want to go over alone.

Lazarus picked up the lube. “You too,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Your cock, Vincent. I want that too.”

The cock in question jumped like it had heard its name. Vincent immediately held out his hand and Lazarus squirted a portion of lube into it.

Vincent slicked himself, holding Lazarus’s gaze. He straddled Lazarus.

Offering himself to be wanted. Cared for.

Lazarus forgot how to breathe. This would change them. This vulnerability. This was what would alter their lives.

Somehow, his lungs pulled in breath. He wound his main tentacle around Vincent’s cock and sat up. He wound his arms around Vincent, and pulled him tight against himself.

Lazarus folded his legs, forcing Vincent’s legs wider as he settled into Lazarus’s lap.

They were twined and touching and wet and messy.

And they were kissing.

Lazarus’s hands were in Vincent’s hair and Vincent’s still-lubed hands were on as much of Lazarus’s spinal ridge as he could reach.

And Lazarus was stroking whatever he could reach with his ancillary tentacles — Vincent’s inner thighs, his balls, the seamed area just behind them whose name escaped Lazarus at the moment — and anything that earned him more of those pleading cries.

And then his tentacle stroked across Vincent’s hole.

And Vincent _whined_ into Lazarus’s mouth.

Lazarus pulled back enough to look into Vincent’s eyes. “Yes? This?” He stroked the opening again.

“Please… I mean, if you want…”

In. Vincent was inviting him in. Wanted him if he wanted.

“I do… I have no idea how to proceed, however.”

“Keep doing that. God, it’s so warm.”

Lazarus kept rubbing, testing the opening every now and then with the tip, until he felt it loosen and relax.

“Now?” he asked.

Vincent nodded. “Yeah, start small and go slow.”

Lazarus pointed the tip of his tentacle and pressed. In.

Enveloped.

Past the tight rim was soft and smooth and enveloping.

“Oh god. Lazarus.” Vincent’s hips began a slow rocking motion, sending his cock gliding through the coils of Lazarus’s main tentacle, sending the smaller tentacle gliding in and out of his body.

Tangled and stroking and wet and snug.

“Another one… please.”

And Lazarus complied — pressed and wriggled a second tentacle up beside the first. How could he not? With the unflappable Sergeant Chen rocking and pleading and naked in his lap?

Lazarus would have given him anything he asked for.

Vincent stroked his spinal ridge, now covered in sweat and lube and it was all so… erotic, unexpected, inelegant, and _good_.

“I… I’m…” Lazarus never finished the sentence. He felt Vincent’s muscles tighten around him, heard Vincent keening into his shoulder, and then —

Wet and warm splashing against his stomach, his tentacles, painting his skin in another layer of slick liquid.

And Lazarus shattered.

A million tiny pieces scattered across the universe.

A billion stars, points of light coalescing, reassembling themselves, remaking him here, on this bed.

With Vincent — sticky and sweet and smelling of sea and home.

Utterly familiar and completely different.

 

_Step 13 — Say what you feel for each other._

Vincent wondered for a moment what had woken him. When Lazarus moved again, he realized the answer. Somehow, the covers had been kicked off and now Lazarus was snuggling up, seeking warmth in his sleep.

Vincent could see him clearly in the soft blue light from the planet spinning outside the window — the points of his crest, the slow flutter of his gill ridges, even the silvery stripes where Vin had stretched the skin of his pouch.

He considered pulling Lazarus into his arms and kissing him awake. He couldn’t see the clock, but he was sure it was morning, and he certainly had something very warm between his legs that Lazarus could snuggle with if he had a mind to. But instead, he pulled the blanket up over Lazarus and tucked away the sight of his naked body. Twice in one night is enough, thought Vincent. He was already starting to feel the ache from what they’d done in the shower.

And he didn’t want to ask for too much.

“Vincent?” Lazarus’s voice was low and sleep-creaky and capable of drawing both tenderness and desire from Vincent in quantities he was unused to feeling.

“Mm-hmm?”

Lazarus smiled, and Vincent’s heart stuttered at the simple confirmation that Lazarus was happy to be here with him.

“Make love with me?” Lazarus put his leg over Vincent’s, slipped his arm around his waist.

“So you do know some euphemisms for sex?” Vincent joked, a last-ditch effort to keep his emotions at a manageable size.

“I wasn’t speaking euphemistically,” said Lazarus.

Vincent looked at Lazarus’s warm, sincere, unguarded face.

“I love you too,” said Vincent.

 

 

***

 

 

 

**Shouldn’t I Have This?**

 

_Step 14 — Introduce your intended to your family._

Lazarus found Vincent at the docks, talking and laughing with the Dock Master and a small group of what he assumed were engineers. Vincent spotted him and waved him over.

“My apologies for the interruption,” said Lazarus. “Cmdr. Taggart wishes to know if a departure time has been set, and it appears that your vox isn’t functioning.”

Vincent pulled the device out of the utility pouch on his uniform. He flipped it open. “Huh. Power source is fine. I’ll have to check it later. You can tell the commander that we’re done here and we can leave any time.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.” They had agreed that they should keep things formal when on duty. But it was difficult to forget that he had been sucking this man’s cock less than five hours ago.

“You’re welcome, Doctor,” said Vincent with just a hint of a smile that said that he had also not forgotten.

Lazarus nodded to the assembly and turned to go.

“Doctor?” said Vincent. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes,” said Lazarus, turning back.

Vincent smiled at the others. “We’ll just be a minute,” he said.

He led Lazarus down the walkway a bit.

“I know we’re on duty and everything,” said Vincent, “but it sounds like we’re leaving soon, and there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Very well.”

They continued down the walkway to an observation area for a skeleton ship that was being built outside. Two women in blue NSEA uniforms were looking at plans for the ship.

“Hey, Meg,” said Vincent.

One of the women looked up. “Vinny! Do you know if we can get dinner tonight?” she asked.

“It’s not looking good,” said Vincent. “Cmdr. Taggart’s already asking when we’ll be finished.”

“Darn it. I just find out you’re here and you have to turn around and leave.”

“Sorry, maybe next time. Before we go though, I wanted you to meet someone. This is um… my boyfriend, Lazarus. Lazarus, this is my sister, Meghan.”

Boyfriend?

“Boyfriend?” said Meghan.

“Yes,” said Lazarus, recovering quickly and holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said Meghan, grinning and shaking his hand. “Vincent’s never had a boyfriend before. I mean, he’s _bi_. I know that. There’ve been boys… and girls… who were friends, but not — oh hell.” Meghan cringed and put her hand over her eyes.

“I think what she means,” said Vincent, “is that I’ve never been serious enough to introduce her to anyone before.”

“Yes,” said Meghan, blushing. “That’s what she means.”

As it turned out, the _Protector_ did end up leaving within the hour. Vincent and his sister made firm plans to meet on Delta Station the following month and have dinner. Lazarus was invited to join them.

Vincent was always busy when they were leaving port. There were systems to be started, measurements to be taken, an entire undocking procedure to be completed.

It left Lazarus with plenty of time to think.

To think about things like “boyfriend” and “serious.”

And “I love you.”

As though he had not been thinking about them all along.

They were the point of the whole exercise, weren’t they? Vincent had declared that quite clearly. He had always been serious about this, as had Lazarus, for that matter.

Love was to be expected. It was the hoped-for, worked-for outcome. Every step taken, every confession made, every moment spent together, every layer of armor stripped off and set aside — it was for this.

So why did it suddenly seem so _wrong_?

Where was that feeling of intense pleasure that had warmed him since Vincent had initiated this ritual? Since he had declared his intent – his _desire_ – to have Lazarus as his spouse?

Lazarus should be overjoyed.

He should be grateful that he had found someone to do this with him.

Do this for him.

So much had been done because someone had loved him. He should always be grateful.

But sometimes he was not.

Sometimes he was furious and resentful.

And then came the sick, dark disgust — the knowledge that he was hopelessly corrupted by anger, by selfishness, by treachery.

That he had selfishly chosen to love Vincent, knowing that he could only hurt what he loved.

A tiny part of Lazarus stood apart, watching this descent, knowing what it was and that it would pass.

But that tiny part couldn’t hope to compete with the millions of Mak’Tar who deserved what he had far more than he did.

They were dead, and he was not.

 

_Step 15 — Speak of your fears._

Vincent was surprised when Lazarus wasn’t in the mess hall that evening, but things come up, he reasoned. It wouldn’t be the first time Lazarus had eaten in Taggart’s office while they went over ship’s business. Or the first time he’d just grabbed a bite in his lab because he didn’t want to leave his work at a crucial moment. Vincent would see him later.

Except he didn’t. There was a note from Lazarus on his TABLIT.

“I’m rather over-tired and am going directly to bed. I don’t wish to disrupt your schedule, so I am remaining in my quarters tonight. — Lazarus”

Disappointing but understandable. Vincent was pretty beat himself. It would have been nice to crawl into a warm bed, hear Lazarus whisper “hello” as he threw a sleep-heavy arm over him. But things come up.

It didn’t mean that Lazarus would rather sleep without him.

Vincent grabbed his pillows and a blanket, and curled up on the couch.

The next morning, Lazarus wasn’t at breakfast, and Vincent didn’t have time to speculate about it before his shift started. Not that he let that stop him from speculating during his day, but there were plenty of distractions. The weekly emergency decided to show up about an hour before his shift ended, and by the time he’d pulled an impossible amount of extra engine power out of his ass at the last minute, he barely had the energy necessary to eat something he couldn’t taste and head back to his quarters.

Where there was still no Lazarus — not even a note this time.

There were lots of reasons why Lazarus could be too busy for him.

Reasons that did not include changing his mind about Vincent.

Vincent got his bedding and lay down on the couch.

But he didn’t sleep.

What would a sensible person do? The sort of person who doesn’t panic over not hearing from someone in 36 hours.

Lazarus was safe. Vincent would have been informed if he’d been abducted by mercenaries or gotten some horrible space virus.

So he was just busy. If there was an emergency in engineering, there was one on the command deck too. Lazarus was probably just tired and being polite again.

Vincent picked up his TABLIT and sent Lazarus a note — “Hell of a day, huh? See you at breakfast.” That didn’t sound needy, right? Just letting Lazarus know that he was thinking of him. Did he sign it “Vincent” or “Chen?”

Lazarus was the only person on the ship who called him “Vincent” with the very occasional exception of Tawny. Maybe it was too familiar?

Too familiar for a guy he’d spent the weekend naked in bed with? He signed it “Vincent.”

The next morning there was a note from Lazarus.

“My apologies. I require isolation at this time in order to meditate. I will contact you soon. — Lazarus”

That was reasonable, right? A reasonable thing to ask of somebody.

It didn’t necessarily mean that Lazarus needed to meditate about them, and if he did need to meditate about them, it didn’t necessarily mean he was having second thoughts.

But it sure sounded like second thoughts.

It had all been going well, right? Very well. Wonderfully well. They were happy. They were getting closer. Lazarus was pulling, inviting Vincent in. And Vincent was pushing a little, letting himself want things, ask for things. But maybe asking for too much? Maybe he should have defined their relationship better before saying something to his sister. Maybe Lazarus didn’t want it known that they were close, but he’d kissed Vincent on the command deck that day. That was sort of an announcement, right? He had slept, non-euphemistically, with Vincent in front of the crew and their commander. In front of his best friend. But maybe he was changing his mind.

Or maybe this had nothing to do with Vincent at all. He wasn’t the center of the universe. He wasn’t the center of anything.

But he had thought, perhaps, that Lazarus wouldn’t shut him completely out.

Vincent took a few deep breaths, then went to the head to get ready for his shift.

 

_Step 16 — Speak of your sorrows._

The door chimed as Lazarus was finishing the last form. He pulled on a robe.

“Enter.”

It was Peter with a tray of food.

“How’re you doing?” he asked, setting the tray on the bed.

Lazarus looked disinterestedly at the tray. “I was performing the _Sind_ _’has dek_ Grabthar. It is often effective.”

“Not quite what I was asking, but okay.”

Lazarus smiled grimly.

“I’m worried about you, Doc. It’s never been this bad before.”

“I know, Peter. My apologies.”

Taggart waved a hand. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I just wish I could help.”

Lazarus shook his head. “There’s really nothing you can do.”

“I figured,” said Peter. “That’s why I had Tawny put in a call to your friend, Sha’ree.”

Lazarus frowned. “You contacted Sha’ree?”

“I figured if you couldn’t talk to me, and you’re apparently not talking to Chen, maybe you could talk to someone who understands what you’re going through…”

It said something about how far gone he’d been that it hadn’t occurred to him to reach out to another Mak’Tar.

“Thank you.”

Peter smiled. “You’ve got about 15 minutes to put on some clothes and eat a little.” He nodded toward the tray and left.

Lazarus lifted the lid — _Kep-mok_ bloodticks. He _was_ being babied. He ate them despite the grinding feeling of not deserving anything that he might even slightly enjoy. They were already in their suspension and would just die if he didn’t. He wasn’t about to add wasting food to his list of sins. Besides, his body could use the protein and his body carried worthier inhabitants than himself.

There was a helpful thought.

He ran a 3-minute cycle in the shower and pulled on a clean uniform.

The look on Sha’ree’s face when she saw him said that he needn’t have bothered.

“Oh, Lazarus.”

“Sha’ree. How are Vin and Tavid?”

“They’re fine. What happened?” she asked.

Lazarus sighed. “I allowed myself to achieve some happiness.”

Sha’ree’s mouth twisted. “It’s always when things are going well.”

“What do you do? When it gets… like this?” He wanted to keep Sha’ree talking. Her voice was soothing.

“I go up into the mountains or to the sea. Someplace that makes me feel small, I guess. It helps to remind myself how little power I have over the universe. Then I tell myself that there are people who love me and need me. Sometimes I just need to sort what I can do from what I can’t. You?”

“Variations on that. Exercise, meditation… It’s different this time.”

Worse.

Sha’ree was silent, waiting.

“He loves me,” said Lazarus.

“You deserve it,” she said without hesitation.

“I…” He stopped himself before the “don’t.”

Sha’ree heard it anyway. “You do. You deserve happiness and affection and companionship. You _do_ , Lazarus.”

“It’s what you’re supposed to say.”

“Of course it’s what I’m supposed to say. It’s the truth.”

“No one’s said that they love me since the Night of the Ships.”

The Night of the Ships was what the refugees called it among themselves — the night their parents and caretakers had told them “Good-bye,” and “Be brave,” and “We love you,” and then sent them all away.

“What are you afraid of?” asked Sha’ree.

“Wounding him like I wounded her.” Lazarus touched the seam of his pouch, remembering. “I pleaded with her not to hurt me and then not to leave me. I begged until my voice failed. What that must have done to her…”

“Listen to me,” she said. “Your mother was an adult. It was her choice — her choice to place the volvac sacs in you and her choice to put you on the ship. She knew what pain she could live with and what she couldn’t.

“Vincent is also an adult. You have to do him the honor of assuming that he knows his own mind and heart — and limits.

“You couldn’t control her actions. You can’t control his. You can end this thing you’ve begun with him, but you can’t stop him from loving you.”

 

_Step 17 — Abide together._

After an hour of staring at the screen and not writing a note to Lazarus, Vincent set the TABLIT aside and lay down. He stared at his dark room instead and obsessed over every detail of his most recent interactions with Lazarus. What had he missed? Had he missed anything? Had he missed everything? Was there some explanation for what was happening that didn’t include Lazarus not wanting him? One that made as much sense as Lazarus just not wanting him?

When the door chimed, he flinched. Why was someone here in the middle of the night? He glanced at the clock. Or at 2100?

Vincent stood and smoothed his uniform.

“Enter.”

It was Lazarus.

“Your palm-print still works on the panel,” said Vincent, his brain scrambling for something other than “Why are you here?” and landing on the stupidest thing possible.

“I was unaware,” said Lazarus, walking across the room to where Vincent still stood near the couch.

Right. Why wouldn’t he have changed it? Lazarus didn’t live here anymore. Changing it made sense. Not changing it looked… desperate? Sentimental? Weird?

Lazarus kissed him, sucking the breath from his lungs along with, he suspected, several pieces of his soul.

“I suppose we need to talk,” said Lazarus quietly.

What was Vincent supposed to say?

“Yeah, I suppose so.” Agreeing with Lazarus seemed safe. Perhaps he could manage to not make this worse if it was bad, or ruin it if it was good.

Lazarus didn’t talk though. He put his hands on either side of Vincent’s face and kissed him again, slipping inside his mouth, caressing Vincent’s tongue with his own.

And when they ran out of breath and broke apart, Vincent said the worst thing possible.

“Is this… are we doing goodbye sex? Because I don’t think I can… not with you.”

“No.” Lazarus looked at Vincent like he’d just sprouted antennae. “No,” he repeated. “Sweet Ipthar. I’ve done this all wrong.”

“No?” Vincent really couldn’t process the rest.

“No. Absolutely not. This isn’t goodbye, not unless that’s what you want.”

Not goodbye. Absolutely not goodbye.

“Then what the hell has been going _on_?” asked Vincent.

Lazarus sighed and sat on the end of the couch. He nodded toward the empty spot next to him. “Please?”

Vincent sat beside him. He took Lazarus’s hand, twined their fingers together and held on.

Lazarus looked at something across the room, or maybe something across the galaxy. It reminded Vincent of the night they’d argued about the Digital Conveyor.

“For every Mak’Tar that survived the Devastation,” Lazarus began, “slightly more than 4,800,000 died. Sometimes, the weight of so many souls is… crushing.”

One soul in particular, thought Lazarus, but he wasn’t ready just yet to talk about his mother or how Vincent had unwittingly triggered memories of their last interactions with each other.

“I can’t possibly balance that scale,” Lazarus went on. “I can’t even begin. And sometimes, despite all rationality, I hate myself for that failure.

“It’s as if something dark and cold reaches up and surrounds me, drags me down to where it lives, where it hides.

“I’ve always feared that the NSEA would consider me mentally unfit if they were aware of these episodes. The only non-Mak’Tar who know are Peter and now you.

“I didn’t tell you earlier because I foolishly hoped it wouldn’t be an issue. It’s been years, but I ought to have known better. Warvan knows I’ve been provided with ample counseling on the matter.

“This ritual was designed to guide us through a profound metamorphosis in our lives. Of course it was meant to provoke self-examination, and it did. I began to question whether or not I had the right to be happy, to be with you… to be loved. The darkness came on so quickly…

“I didn’t want to burden you, and you seemed untroubled by my absence.

“I was an idiot to believe that. I’m sorry.”

Vincent shook his head. “You had enough to worry about, and I’ve gotten good at seeming fine.”

Lazarus looked at Vincent. “I was so afraid I’d hurt you that I ended up hurting you.”

“So another thing we suck at,” said Vincent.

Lazarus twisted around until he was facing Vincent. “Come here,” he said, putting his arms around him. Lazarus leaned back against the arm of the couch. Vincent allowed himself to be pulled along until he was reclining against Lazarus’s chest.

“This will occur again,” said Lazarus, “and when it does, I will need to be alone or with other Mak’Tar. There really isn’t anything you can do to assist me other than keep yourself well in my absence. But I promise you, I won’t leave you in the dark next time. I’ll be open with you about what’s happening to me as soon as I know. Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.”

Lazarus buried his nose in Vincent’s dark curls and breathed.

Vincent’s eyes were closing. He hadn’t slept well in days and now he was nearly horizontal.

And warm and comfortable — and Lazarus still wanted him.

“Oh no you don’t,” said Lazarus. “It’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Mmm. Why must you always seem untroubled even when events that would trouble anyone are occurring?”

“A lot of those things don’t actually trouble me,” said Vincent. “I’m genuinely calm and focused in an emergency.”

“But having your… boyfriend go incommunicado for three days is another matter.”

“I was afraid I’d fucked up somehow, said too much or pushed too hard.”

“You’re the least demanding person in the galaxy, Vincent.”

“I thought maybe you weren’t ready to hear that I love you.”

“I said it first,” Lazarus pointed out.

“Sort of. I could have read too much into what you’d said. Or maybe you weren’t ready to have us be official.”

“Everyone in our lives is aware of this.”

“I never said it made sense,” said Vincent.

Lazarus was silent for a moment, stroking Vincent’s arm.

“Somewhere, somehow, you’ve become convinced that you can’t even hint at wanting the most reasonable things imaginable. Why?”

Vincent really didn’t want to talk about how pathetic he could be.

“It’s trivial compared to —”

“This isn’t a contest. It is not trivial. And I don’t want to go on hurting you,” said Lazarus.

“I’ve never talked about this.”

Lazarus waited, still stroking his arm.

Okay, then.

Vincent took a long breath and started.

“I got in the habit of being out of the way as a kid. I was praised for entertaining myself and not being underfoot — at home, at school. My teachers liked that I wasn’t a problem. They often told me that I wasn’t stretching myself academically, but that was really the extent to which they noticed me.

“Other kids liked me okay, but I wasn’t anyone’s best friend. I was handy for when they needed an extra player, you know?

“But I was um… I was pretty starved for affection, actually, especially after my grandpa died. I had a series of really bad relationships around the end of high school and my first couple years of college.

“I had a habit of mistaking being needed for… being loved. I kept ending up with people who needed way more than a boyfriend. And when I couldn’t meet those needs, they’d break it off for reasons that seemed to come out of nowhere — I was too clingy, too aloof, too intense, too unemotional.

“So I quit dating, and that put me back to being lonely. Then I met Mateo. I loved him, but not like I’d loved anyone else. We were friends — I mean friends who also had sex — but mostly friends. Mateo was polyamorous. Through him, I met other polyamorous people. I learned that I could get a small amount of affection from a half a dozen sources, and it was less dangerous than trying to figure out how to be with just one person. I’m not saying that’s how all polyamorous relationships are — I’ve seen plenty of people who love each other deeply — but that’s how it worked out for me.

“I was on the periphery of other people’s lives again. It seemed like where I belonged. That way, when I messed up a relationship, I wasn’t completely alone.

“Not that I always mess it up. Sometimes it’s something else, like when Kaia met someone she wanted to be exclusive with or when Mateo died. But I still expect it to blindside me. I know it’s coming, but I never know when or how.

“I don’t feel hated. I’m just not important enough to anyone for them to put up with a lot of inconvenience for my sake. So I don’t ask for much, and I never say that someone is important to me because that would put them on the spot if they don’t feel the same way, and that makes me seem distant and uninvested, so they don’t invest in me. And it just goes around and ‘round.

“It feels different with you, though. Maybe because I already know you. I know how serious you are. I know who you are. You think differently from other people. Maybe because you’re Mak’Tar, I don’t know. Maybe what’s normal to a Mak’Tar is closer to… whatever I am. I don’t feel as odd when I’m with you, and it’s comforting.

“When you went from being so open and implying that you love me— I mean it felt… enormous and important… intimate and like everything I’ve told myself to stop wanting — to avoiding me and sending curt notes, I assumed the worst. I’m sorry. I know I should have trusted you… I kept telling myself that there was something reasonable happening, that it wasn’t… but I couldn’t make myself believe it.

“And the whole time, you were dealing with your past. It had nothing to do with me.

“I’m sorry. That was a mess.”

Lazarus tightened his arms around Vincent and kissed the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry you lost your grandfather and Mateo.”

Vincent pressed himself closer to Lazarus. “Thank you,” he said, unsure what, if anything, to add, but touched that Lazarus would think to acknowledge his losses before anything else.

Lazarus combed his fingers through Vincent’s hair, slow and gentle.

“I love you, Vincent Chen, and I apologize profusely for only implying that before. You are very much at the center of my life. I find you neither alien nor strange. You fit with me as if we were made for each other.”

“Do you believe in fate all of a sudden?” asked Vincent.

“No. I believe in you and I believe in what we are creating together.”

Lazarus nuzzled the back of Vincent’s neck some more.

“You know,” said Vincent, “we have a bed right over there.”

“ _We_ do?”

“Yes, _we_ do.”

“Well, in that case, may I suggest that we retire to it?”

Vincent stood and held out his hand. Lazarus took it as he also stood up. He led the way to the sleeping area.

“Just to be absolutely unambiguous,” said Lazarus as they were taking off their uniforms, “you _did_ just invite me to live with you, correct?”

“To abide with me,” said Vincent, stepping into Lazarus’s space and kissing him.

“Vincent.”

“Yeah?”

“Just to be absolutely unambiguous — I’m saying yes.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _The Collected Works of Thalia Z._ is a collection of short stories written by my original character, Mary Sue Forrester. The notes at the beginning of these stories are also written by her. -- Jes


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